Distant Lullabies
by missautonomy
Summary: AU. For years, Santana's father has been bringing home distractions. This year, he brings home a girl. Even the bars of Brittany's cell can't keep Santana from seeing the beauty in the brokenness. Rated M for dark themes and future chapters. R&R!
1. View From Here

_**AN: So this is primarily a Brittana story (because they own my soul), and I'll probably throw in some side pairings along the way. Probably a little Quick implications and some Faberry (not a fanatic shipper of them, but heh, why not), or maybe some Finchel. I'm just gonna go with the flow, so stay tuned, haha.**_

_**Also, this is my first multi-chap Brittana story and I'm not really used to writing from a Santana-like POV. Normally I'm more of a Brittany, but I felt as though this story would be better told through Santana's eyes. So bear with me if I don't always get it right (:**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing glee related, yada yada….**_

_**xxxxxxxxxx**_

Seventeen years ago today, my mother died.

Growing up without a mom was difficult. I'm not going to sugar coat it for you. I don't have any brothers or sisters. It's just me and my dad in this great big house. Most people call it a mansion, but let's be real here. It's a fucking castle. Ridiculous, in my opinion. Far too large for a family of two, and no, I don't count our twenty-some servants. If we had a smaller home, we wouldn't even need them.

But the house had been passed down through generations and generations… On my mom's side. He'd never sell it. He'd never live anywhere else. Everything in it reminded him of her. The dining table, where they used to sit across from each other. The grand staircase, where he'd knelt down on one knee and proposed, all those years ago. The garden out back, where (supposedly) I was conceived. She was everywhere in this house. The only thing that kept her close. The only tie that managed to keep them tethered even after all these years.

It was sad, really, but I could never tell him to move on. He'd lost his wife. His soul mate. His greatest love. I'd never been in love, myself, but I couldn't blame him.

The other half of your heart must have been a terrible thing to lose.

I sat at the top of the stairwell, where I did every year, just waiting for him to get home. Tears burned against my brown eyes. My mother's eyes. It was like this every year. Always one distraction or another, without fail. Last year, he came home with a speedboat. The year before that, it was a parakeet. My _papi_, with a fucking _parakeet_. I was as stunned as the servants.

The parakeet didn't last two weeks.

Always one distraction or another, and as I sat sadly at the top of the stairs, waiting for him, I wondered what he would bring home this year. A new car, maybe. Or perhaps a puppy. One thing after another that would entertain him for just a little while before he got bored and even angrier than he had been before.

My phone suddenly vibrated inside the front pocket of my denim shorts, drawing me from my thoughts. I quickly pulled the too-large device from my clothing and swiped my thumb across the screen.

_Come over tonight, babe. I'll invite only the coolest and we'll celebrate the right way._

It was from Noah Puckerman. My oldest friend. His dad was my dad's best friend. I always said I didn't have siblings, but really, Puck was more of a brother than anything else. For a couple years after he hit puberty, he tried his best to get in my pants, but I wasn't interested. Too weird. And the mohawk was such a turn-off. But it was nice to have someone to get close to. I'd never really had that before.

_Thanks Puck. I'll let you know. –S_

It depended on my father more than it did on me. Of course, getting out of this house would be a blessing. He didn't let me do it enough, and I resented him for it. He even hired me several private tutors so I never had to leave. It was torturous, really, and I hated the thought of him constantly watching me. Always having one eye peeled for his pretty little mistake.

It's not like I did it on purpose.

Our gigantic front door suddenly burst open and startled me from my thoughts. I quickly pocketed my cell phone and made to stand, ready to run down and greet my father like the obedient little daughter I'd been conditioned to be. My brown eyes, similar to his own but identical to my mother's, locked on his stalking figure. I hadn't even taken one step before I noticed what he was dragging behind him.

His new distraction.

His new _pet_.

Tall. Blonde. Beautiful.

And she looked petrified.

"Please," I heard her beg, practically digging her heels into our marble floor as my father just continued to pull her along forcefully by her wrist. He either didn't hear her plea, or he simply didn't care. My bet was with the latter.

"I beg you, Sir," the girl continued as they made their way across our grand foyer. I was frozen at the top of the stairs, my gaze glued to the crying blonde. "Please, let me go."

My father continued to ignore her, just gave a sharp yank to the girl's wrist that had her stumbling forward to the floor at his heels. Papi almost seemed offended at this and all I could do was watch, horrified, as he pulled the blonde to her feet and backhanded her swiftly across the face.

My gut wrenched and I visibly flinched before tearing my eyes away. I could hear pathetic pleas and whimpers as they disappeared into the depths of our home, an uncomfortable weight settling in the pit of my stomach.

I'd known Diego Lopez to do some stupid things in his life, but I never would have expected him to do something like _this_.

A girl. He'd brought home some random young girl to act as his personal servant. No, no servant wasn't the right word. We had plenty of those, and my father treated them decently enough. Our servants were paid. Ones that lived in the mansion had proper bedrooms and their jobs consisted of things like guarding the entrances, cleaning, and cooking.

This girl wasn't to be a servant. A twisting suspicion told me that he hadn't taken her to the East wing of the mansion, where the in-house servants resided. A twisting suspicion told me that he'd taken her down to the cellar.

She was to be his personal slave.

I felt tears pricking at my eyes before I could even think to bite them back. I was a bitch. Lord knew – and everyone else for that matter – that Santana Lopez was as fierce and ruthless as her infamous father. But I would never do something like this. I could barely fathom the idea of it. When did he sink this low? When had his agony become so unbearable that he felt the need to take it out on another human being? Did he honestly think that girl could replace my mother? Did he truly believe that she could give him what he needed?

Again, my phone buzzed within the depths of my jeans and I jumped, sniffling loudly before scurrying to my feet and rushing to my bedroom. My body sank onto the foot of my bed, so large no ordinary set of sheets could properly fit the mattress. All my life, we'd had servants make the custom bedding by hand, tailored specifically to the size of the mattress and to my own preferences. I'd assured my father that I had no need for such a large bed, but he'd insisted.

My fingers fumbled embarrassingly so as they tugged my phone from my pocket. It was another text message, this one from Quinn.

_You going to Puck's tonight? He's throwing this party just for you, you know._

I groaned. I'd been upset at first that my father wasn't even going to acknowledge me today without me acknowledging him first. But what with the new _addition_ to our household, I'd completely forgotten myself. Puck's party was the last thing on my mind right now.

_I don't know, Q. Something just came up. Not so sure I want to leave tonight… -S_

Quinn wouldn't like that. We hadn't been friends for long, but we'd clicked pretty instantaneously. She could keep up with my verbal abuse and shoot it back just as easily. She should have driven me batshit crazy, but surprisingly, I rather enjoyed our bitchy bantering. In the last couple years, we'd become each other's security blankets, and I knew she wouldn't be happy about having to attend Puck's party alone.

I couldn't help that I was far more interested in what was happening in my own home than in another one of Puck's silly parties.

_Bitch._

I smiled at the insult. Quinn Fabray never swore, let alone used a curse in reference to another human being. I felt honored.

_Skank. Shut up and go snatch that sparkle. I'll try to make it later. –S_

I was pretty sure Puck would always put up an effort to hook up with me, but I was even more sure that he was getting his kicks somewhere else in the mean time. I was only a little sure that those kicks were found in my wholesome blonde friend, but it was fun to tease her anyway.

_You shut up. I don't know what you're talking about… All joking aside, S, I want to see you at some point today. You need some lovin' and we all know you won't get it from your dad._

My lip curled in the smallest of snarls, and if I wasn't so annoyed, I might have actually appreciated Quinn's ability to take my mind off the little _gift_ my father had purchased for himself, even if only momentarily. But she struck a nerve. Everyone knew my relationship with my dad was one of pure obligation. He gave me what I wanted, he gave me what he _thought_ I wanted, and in turn, I was the doting, obedient daughter. There was nothing loving or affectionate about it. That wasn't my choice, and Quinn knew that.

_No offense Quinn, but I'm not that into that. Zip your lips and go get your drink on. Like I said, I'll see what I can do. –S_

With that, I flipped my phone onto silent and carelessly threw it to the head of my bed. It became lost somewhere in the thrall of pillows and I sighed, relieved. Normally, my phone was my lifeline, but right now, it was nothing but a nuisance.

In the heavy silence of my bedroom, I stared up at the ceiling and let my mind wander back to the unfortunate blonde who was now in the possession of Diego A. Lopez. I wondered where he found her, by what means the girl had found herself in a position to even become somebody else's property. I wondered if she had a family, and if they would miss her. I wondered what she was doing now, what she was thinking. I wondered if she would last as long as my father's parakeet, or if she would give up, as the bird had.

I entertained the thought of going down to the cellar. I wondered if anyone was guarding the door. But then, why would they? It was a _cellar_, after all. Multiple barred cells had laid empty down there for decades, but I was perfectly certain that my dad had always known the whereabouts of the keys to each of the cell doors. Just in case. If that was, in fact, where he'd taken her, then there would be no need for someone to guard the cellar door. She wouldn't be able to get out. And it wasn't like anyone would come looking for her here.

At least, I figured no one would.

Suddenly, my eyes flicked over to my own bedroom door, seriously contemplating my options. I could simply ignore her. I could pretend she didn't exist and continue living my dull life until I turned eighteen and would be legally allowed to leave. That would have been the easier route, no question.

But somewhere down beneath my feet sat a scared girl. An innocent human being who probably didn't deserve the fate she'd been dealt. Yes, I was a bitch, but even I wasn't that heartless. My stomach clenched with sympathy for her, knowing that if my assumptions about my father's intentions were correct, she would endure the worst kind of turmoil.

Could I really just sit back and act like I knew nothing of it?

I hadn't even realized that, during my ponderings, I'd practically chewed a hole through my bottom lip.

No, I couldn't just sit here and do nothing.

If nothing else, I at least needed to satisfy my own curiosity and go down there. I at least needed to find out who she was, where she'd come from. How she'd ended up here.

And maybe I was wrong. Maybe she wasn't in the cellar. Perhaps my father had simply taken her to the kitchen, or perhaps the garden, before escorting her to the East wing. Maybe she really would just become a regular, boring servant, just like all the others.

My hopes that this was true were really quite minimal as I stood from my bed and slowly made my way back to the grand staircase.

I'd been enough of a rude hellion to all my father's servants throughout my years that most of them didn't bother me when we passed each other in the halls. They merely dropped their gazes and kept walking. Some were brave enough to nod politely in my direction before going about their business. But I certainly liked it this way. There was only so much I could talk about to a person who had been serving in my household for more years than I could count on my fingers.

I made it through the kitchen easily enough, grabbing an apple along the way to make myself look as though I had a purpose other than the real one. Back behind the kitchen was what was now used as a servant's corridor. I hadn't been back here in probably ten years. It had been Puck's idea, to explore parts of the mansion that we'd never really bothered with before. It hadn't changed much at all. A little dustier, but just as drab.

I paused when I realized that there was, in fact, someone standing guard in front of the cellar door. I cursed beneath my breath, turning the ripe red apple between my fingers as I wondered how best to proceed. I recognized the man immediately as William. One of my father's newer servants, but notably loyal. I figured he wouldn't be too hard to dupe.

"Will, right?" I asked with confidence as I approached him, even though I already knew.

He looked startled to see me, or perhaps he was just astounded that I was addressing him personally. It was a rare occurrence, after all. It took him a few seconds to recompose himself and I had to fight the urge to scoff at his incompetence.

"Yes, Miss. What can I do for you?"

"Listen, Will. Did Papi bring a girl down here?" I asked casually, as if I really didn't care either way. "About yay high-" I gestured accordingly with my hand. "Blonde hair. Legs for days."

William nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Right, about that," I spoke, dropping my voice as if I were getting ready to divulge secret information. "Papi wants to see you. Says he has some specific requests. But Berry was supposed to deliver the message and she got intercepted by that airhead, Pils-something, so I told her I'd tell you. So whatever you do, don't tell Papi I gave you this message, okay? We wouldn't want Berry getting in trouble."

William looked utterly confused but nodded his head eagerly. I figured he'd understood enough to realize that he wasn't supposed to include my name in anything, and that was all that mattered. Sure, that annoying little Rachel girl would probably get a scathing lecture in obedience, but I didn't really mind. She talked too much anyway.

When William failed to move, I raised my eyebrows expectantly at him.

"Well? You're not going to keep Papi waiting, are you?"

This seemed to jerk the man to his senses, and without a word, he dashed off in the direction of the kitchen.

I waited a minute or two, glancing carefully down both ends of the hallway to make sure no one was coming before I reached for the knob on the cellar door.

As soon as the old wood creaked open, the smell hit my nostrils and I cringed. It wasn't an outright _gross_ smell. It wasn't like there were rotting corpses down there. But it was certainly dank. It simply smelled _old_, and dusty. I imagined no one had been down here in years. It was an old house, built during the time of the Civil War. Most sections of the mansion had been restored, but of course, what with the end of slavery and all, there had been no reason to renovate the cellar. We had no use for it.

At least, not until now.

I quietly closed the door behind me, before descending the stone steps carefully and with a silent precision. That same heaviness from before settled into the pit of my abdomen, had the hairs on my arms rising. I hated this feeling. Like I was walking into some cheesy horror film. But unfortunately, this was real. This dark, awful dungeon was _real_, and it was a part of my _home_. And somewhere down here sat a girl.

A girl whose quiet cries were already meeting my sensitive ears.

Most of the light in the cellar came from the barred holes at the top of the farthest wall. One above each cell. I'd never noticed them from the outside before, but now I was curious. I'd definitely have to go looking for them later. They were too high to reach from in here, though, and I was a little surprised by how big it actually was down here. The walls were made of dark, old bricks, the ceilings vaulted, but not in that fancy, expensive way. On the wall opposite the cells hung several lanterns. Fucking _lanterns_. It was like walking down those stairs had transported me to whole different time period. One where cell phones and mohawks and fruity alcohol didn't exist.

My steps were cautious now and I wondered why I felt the need to be silent. There were no more servants down here. No more guards to hide from. Just the steady sounds of the girl's sniffles and whimpers. She wasn't in the first cell, nor the second. I inched closer to the third and recognized the long blonde curls, the lithe body that was curled up against the back wall of her cell. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them and her face buried in her arms. She couldn't see me. She hadn't even realized she was no longer alone.

And as she continued to cry in the silence, I felt my heart shatter inside my chest.

I realized then that I would do anything I could to help her, even if I knew it wouldn't be much.

It would never be enough.

"Hello," I said softly, standing there in front of her cell, my hands hanging useless at my sides.

The girl gasped, startled by the single word and her head snapped up.

I saw, for the first time, how beautiful and broken her glistening blue eyes were.

Seventeen years ago today, my mother died. This quivering girl was my father's sympathy gift to himself.

Suddenly, the fact that my father had forgotten to wish me a "happy birthday" seemed like the least important thing in the world.


	2. Intent Never Makes A Sound

_**AN: To my fabulous seven reviewers: thank you! I so appreciate you taking a moment to let me know your thoughts and stuff. And to everyone else, I apologize for taking a while to update. But hey, it was the end of HP and all. Not to mention, I was traveling, so… I promise to try and get the next chapter up as quickly as possible. Cheers!**_

_**xxxxxxxxxx**_

I wasn't sure I'd ever seen eyes like that before. I'd always said Quinn's eyes were the coolest I'd ever seen, but so suddenly, that wasn't true anymore. As this girl I knew nothing about stared back at me with those stunning, crystal blue orbs, I found myself completely speechless.

I wasn't expecting that.

I probably looked like an idiot. Not that she was in any position to judge. But I literally couldn't stop staring at her. Or maybe gaping was the more appropriate word. Even through the tears, she was most beautiful girl I'd ever met, and we hadn't even been properly acquainted. Granted, introducing myself through the bars of a cell probably wouldn't be considered very proper.

But honestly, she was breathtaking, and my musings from before came back tenfold now, as I just stood there watching her.

How did someone who looked like _that_ end up _here?_ It didn't make a lick of sense to me.

I realized the whole staring-thing had gone on a bit too long when the girl just sniffled loudly and once again buried her face in her arms, hiding herself from me. I wanted to tell her to look at me. I wanted to tell her that she could trust me. I wanted to tell her that she wouldn't be harmed.

But I figured that last one would become a lie at one point or another.

So instead, I simply stepped closer, raised my left hand and wrapped it lightly around one of the iron bars.

"I'm Santana," I said softly, my brown eyes so intent on her curled figure.

I'd noticed before, back when I saw her in the foyer, that she was tall. Even now, with her limbs folded and wrapped around herself, I could see that she was slender and long in all the right places. She wore a rather silly pair of shorts. White with blue stripes, and polka dot socks that stopped just below her knees. Her shirt was loose fitting, dipped beneath one shoulder, and I wondered if it was supposed to be worn that way or if the neck had been ripped or stretched. Nevertheless, the entire ensemble looked like that of a six year old, and yet, it somehow seemed so fitting of this girl. I'd never be able to pull of a look like that, but I couldn't really have imagined the blonde in anything else. It was… precious, almost. Sweet, like her pretty face.

It only made my heart clench that much more when I remembered what would most likely happen to her.

It took a minute, but eventually, she lifted her head again and swiped at her cheeks a little too quickly. As if she didn't want me to see her tears. As if she were embarrassed. I didn't blame her at all, though. I was pretty sure that if our positions had been reversed, I would have been bawling.

"My name is Santana," I repeated, my voice a little more confident with hope. Exactly what I was hopeful for, I wasn't really sure. "What's yours?"

Again, she took her time in responding. I simply stood there and watched as her watery, nervous eyes looked left, then right, then left again, as if observing her surroundings closely. As if she feared that she would be punished for talking.

I hated that I pitied her. Pity was such an awful emotion and I felt it was inappropriate to feel towards another human being. As if, by pitying this girl, I was admitting that I was in a far better place. Which, of course, wasn't false. But it just felt wrong. It felt not like gazing in on another person, but rather, an animal. As if this cellar was actually a zoo and I'd come to press my face in on this poor, captive creature. She was completely helpless, and I didn't want to feel sorry for her, but I did. I simply couldn't help it.

My ears twitched when the girl finally stuttered, obviously struggling to get her tongue to work in my presence.

"B-Brittany."

I nodded, acknowledging that I'd heard her feeble voice and making a mental note never to forget that name. For the briefest second, I dared to look away from those dazzling eyes. Her right cheek was marred, bright red with the tiniest twinge of blue appearing just above the bone. A mark left by my father and his incurable anger. No doubt the first of many.

"It's good to meet you, Brittany."

What a stupid thing to say. In any other situation, it would have been perfectly appropriate. I'm sure that, in any location other than this one, I would have been perfectly pleased to make this girl's acquaintance. But if never meeting her would have spared her this imprisonment… Well, that was certainly the favorable option. I silently cursed myself for sounding so silly.

I heard her try to speak again, pulling me from my own berating, and I found her gaze once more.

Fuck, even through the bruise and the tears, she was so remarkable.

"Where am I?"

Fair question, I figured. Although, I was more than ashamed to admit to this girl that she was in my house. Embarrassed to divulge the fact that this cellar was a part of my _home_.

"This is my family's estate," I explained to her, avoiding the word _home_ altogether, although it didn't seem to help as much as I thought it might. I still felt guilty. "Upstate Ohio," I added, silently hoping that it wouldn't make much of a difference. Silently hoping that this blonde hadn't been ripped too far from home.

"Ohio?" she breathed, her blue eyes dropping from mine to stare sadly at the dirty floor of her cell.

The look on her face made me assume my hopes were wrong.

"How far from Pittsburgh?" she asked, so quietly I nearly missed the question entirely.

So she was from Pennsylvania. I sighed, disappointed that she had, in fact, been quite uprooted from her home and the family that she may or may not have had.

"Um…" I paused for a few seconds, trying to calculate in my head. "A couple hundred miles, maybe?" I wasn't really sure. It was far… But it could have been worse.

She fell silent again, and as I continued to just watch her, I slowly sank to the floor. It was cold and dirty, but I couldn't find it in my heart to care about the well being of my shorts. If they got ruined, dear daddy would just buy me another pair anyway.

It was depressing to consider the deafening silence that settled over us just then. Normally, a stillness like this between two people would be comfortable. Sometimes it was like that with Quinn when she came over. She'd sit and catch up with my latest gossip magazines while I painted my fingernails black or trimmed my own bangs. Sometimes words simply weren't necessary. And sometimes, it was nice.

But this silence, this stillness, was unbearable.

I looked down at my hands, my fingers clutching tightly to the red apple I'd plucked from the kitchen. I absentmindedly began to twist the stem, going slowly through the alphabet with every turn. It popped off on the letter _k_, making me grimace. Of course. My head was instantly filled with thoughts of Karofsky. Anymore, I really couldn't stand the guy. He would always be nothing more than a pathetic oaf to me. Granted, I _did_ owe him a lot. As much as he owed me, I figured. Sleeping with him ensured me that I most certainly did _not_ like sex with boys, while sleeping with me ensured him that he most certainly did _not _like sex with girls. We never told anyone, of course. He was too much of a homophobe to accept that he was homosexual, let alone come out with it. And while I'd come to terms with my own doubts, I definitely wasn't ready to let the world know that I had more in common with Ellen than our fabulous wits.

Wanting to rid myself of the wretched fruit as much as I wanted to help the girl named Brittany, I slowly stuck my arm through the iron bars and offered her the apple.

"Want it?"

She looked as nervous about accepting food as she had about talking. Her blue eyes darted everywhere, before settling back on the apple. I noticed the way her body twitched. I sensed my brown eyes grow the slightest bit darker as she licked her lips. It was obvious that she wanted it, but the closer I studied her, the more attuned I became to her thoughts. I wondered if she was too afraid to move in order to take the fruit from me. I wondered if she was too apprehensive to show herself.

I immediately decided to tend to my own suspicions, even if they were dead wrong.

"Here," I said softly, before tossing the apple across the cell.

Her movements were surprisingly graceful, considering she'd lost her footing so easily before, up in the foyer. Those long arms unfolded immediately, slender fingers forming a glove to catch the apple just as it reached her. She paused then, her perfect blue eyes finding mine. A message of gratitude was sent without words, just with that one look. I nodded my head softly and felt my heartbeat increase inside my chest.

Helping her was no longer just something I _wanted_ to do; it was something I _had_ to do.

I half expected her to start devouring the apple like a starved animal, but perhaps that was just what the suspense-movie-scenario had made me believe. Instead of being ravenous with the offering, the blonde took a moment to study it, turning it over in her slender hands once, twice, three times. I watched with mild fascination as she finally lifted the apple to her pink lips and bit into it. The crunch of the skin breaking sounded obnoxiously loud in our silence, but I welcomed it.

As she ate, I once again let my gaze wander up to the makeshift window above her cell. I tried to deduce where I would find it from the outside, so that I might come back and sneak her as much food as I possibly could. There was a part of me that assumed my father would feed her nothing but bread and water. The other part told me to stop turning everything into a bad horror flick.

Something sounded from the top of the stone stairwell just then, causing both of us to start. My head snapped over my right shoulder, my heart jumping into my throat. Fuck, how long had I been down here? I quickly looked back to Brittany, my voice dropping in volume and noticeably panicked.

"Brittany, quick, give me that," I said, holding my hands through the bars and gesturing towards the half-eaten apple.

"What? Why?" she questioned, unmoving. "Who's coming?"

"Please, give it back. If he sees you with it, he'll know someone was down here."

If my father found out I'd visited his new pet, he'd make sure I'd never be able to do it again.

She must have sensed the urgency in my voice and in my expression, both of us aware of the slow footsteps descending the staircase. At last, she stood, and I followed. In a flash, she was in front of me. Close enough that I could smell the faintest hint of her last perfume. I tried my best to ignore it and snatched the apple out of her hands.

"Santana, please." Her voice was shaking and when I found her gaze, those beautiful blue eyes were glistening again with fresh tears. She looked terrified. "Who is that?"

"Listen Brittany," I started to explain quickly, my voice hushed. Her hands were wrapped around the bars between us, her knuckles white. I lifted my empty hand and set it carefully on top of one of her own. "You can't tell him I was down here, alright?"

"Him who? What does he want?"

She sounded so scared, but I didn't have time to answer her questions.

"Don't tell him you saw me. Otherwise I won't be able to come back. Do you understand?"

She'd dropped her gaze and was shaking her head slowly. All I could do was hope that she wouldn't say anything as I darted away from the cell and ran as quietly as I could to the opposite side of the cellar. Around the corner were stacks of crates and barrels. I was far too worried to concern myself with what was inside them as I tried my best to catch my breath.

After several seconds that seemed to last for hours, I faced the stone wall and edged myself to the corner, daring to look around with just one eye.

Brittany had retreated to the back of her cell once again and had taken up her previous position on the floor. As I'd expected, my papi came stumbling slowly down the remainder of the stairs, followed closely by Will. I bit down hard on my lower lip as I heard Brittany start to cry.

"No… Please…" she begged as my father stepped in front of her cell and stuck a giant old key into the door.

"Please, just leave me here!" She was getting louder with her fear and I cringed. It really was a scene from the worst sort of film.

All I could do was watch, frozen and mortified, as he staggered into Brittany's cell and advanced on her quivering figure. I could tell that he'd been drinking and my heart bled for the poor blonde.

His hands were at her arms, ripping at her hands and skin to get her on her feet. She fought valiantly. Continued to plead with him to leave her alone. But as soon as his strong hand wrapped around her thin wrist, there was nothing more she could do. He tore her from the cell and began to trudge back towards the staircase. Brittany whimpered and looked over her shoulder, right at me.

I could have sworn my heart stopped.

All I could do was quickly lift my hand and hold my index finger up to my lips. A silent gesture for her to keep our secret.

She looked beyond broken. Her cheeks glistened with so many tears that I felt desperate to wipe away. But I was as powerless as she was.

Actually, that was a lie. And as the three of them disappeared up the stairs, Brittany's cries and pleas fading into the sound of the cellar door closing, I felt the first tear glide slowly down my own cheek.

I wasn't powerless.

I was just selfish.

If I really wanted to, I could have fought alongside Brittany. I knew in my heart that what my father was doing was wrong, and that the blonde didn't deserve it. Even if it would have done little to no good, I could have tried. But I didn't. Instead, I just stood aside and let him take her.

She was so beautiful, and he was about to ruin her.

I turned abruptly on my heels and slid down the dusty wall, landing on the floor in a bit of a heap as the overwhelming weight of it all washed over me.

My birthday. Today was supposed to be a good day. The best day of the year, even. I was supposed to be pampered and spoiled and loved to my heart's content. Instead, I felt devastated and helpless and so very guilty.

I sat like that for quite some time with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I continued to cry for myself and the fucked up life that I'd been forced to live. And I cried for Brittany. A part of me was thankful that I'd found myself left behind in the cellar. Down here, I couldn't hear a thing. It was deadly quiet, and even though I wondered, even though I couldn't help but be curious, I was _so_ grateful that I didn't know for certain. That, even if what I thought was happening was, indeed, happening, I didn't have to hear it.

My left hand instinctively went to my pocket with the sudden urge to text Quinn, but I quickly realized that I'd left the stupid device up in my bedroom. I bet she called. She probably left a snappy voice message. Judging by the dimming light coming from the windows, I guessed it was getting to be evening time.

Puck would be expecting me. I never got back to him about the party. I hadn't said I would go, but I hadn't told him _no_ either. And in Puck-land, the absence of a no was as good as a yes.

Even though the mohawked boy would probably be disappointed, and even though Quinn would most definitely be upset with me, I really couldn't bring myself to care. My birthday and the party and my crazy friends all seemed so insignificant now. All my problems, even the animosity between my father and myself, just seemed so small.

All I could think about was Brittany, and how desperately I wanted her to be okay.

I wasn't even sure how much time passed before I finally heard the door to the cellar open again. I listened closely at first and thought that I only heard one pair of footsteps. Could that be right? It couldn't be. Brittany couldn't lock herself into her cell, for Christ's sake.

Unable to quell my curiosity, I once again peeked around the corner, unknowingly holding my breath in my sore lungs.

It made sense now why I'd only heard one set of footsteps. My father was nowhere to be seen. Will was the only one walking, carrying a sickeningly limp – and utterly naked – Brittany in his arms.

It took every bit of strength not to lunge from my hiding place right that instant. I wanted to run into that cage with them, before Will had the chance to lock it. I wanted to touch the blonde, wanted to hold her close to me, even though I didn't really know her at all.

But I couldn't compromise my position. No one could know that I'd snuck down here. I needed to be able to come back.

So I waited. I waited impatiently, tapping my fingers quietly against the stone wall, while Will laid Brittany out on the dirty cot in her cell. I waited some more as he closed and locked the door behind him. And then again, until at last he disappeared up the stairs.

My steps were quick and quiet as I made my way to the third cell and peered anxiously inside.

He'd laid Brittany on her side, facing the wall so her back was to me. I opened my mouth to call to her, then closed it silently when I actually observed her body. The fact that she was naked was affirmation enough. Papi had obviously done exactly what I'd expected him to do, and the realization sent my stomach to the floor. At first, I'd thought maybe she was unconscious, but now I knew she wasn't. Her shoulders shook with her faint sobs, which I only heard because I was listening for them. The hip that I could see was beat red, much like her cheek had been. I assumed that there would be a nasty bruise in the coming days.

But the worst, most horrific part of it all was the glistening red liquid smeared between her thighs. I felt my breath leave me with one horrified exhale.

Blood. She was bleeding. My father, my _papi_, made this girl bleed.

I felt sick to my stomach. I felt its contents rolling with the threat of rising and forced myself to look away.

How could he? How could I be related to someone who would do _this_ to another human being? How could something so tragic and _wrong_ take place in my own home?

"Brittany?" I whispered hoarsely, my throat suddenly painfully dry.

I forced myself to look back, although I kept my gaze at the back of her blonde head. Her hair was even messier than it had been before. A rat's nest, and I halfheartedly wondered how she'd ever be able to get a brush through it. Then I remembered that it was irrelevant, that she wouldn't have access to a brush in quite some time. If ever.

"Brittany?" I tried again, a little louder.

Again, she didn't answer.

"Brittany, I'm so-"

"Go away."

The words were broken and sobbed. My breath caught in my throat. My eyes welled with tears and I felt stupid for crying. How dare I shed a tear and consider it justified when she'd just been _raped_. My stomach rolled again, and I actually laid a hand across my abdomen, hoping to physically make it stop.

I didn't leave. I thought about it, but then I considered a reversal of our positions. Even if I told someone to leave me alone, I felt like I might not have meant it. If Brittany were trying to comfort me, I think I might have let her. And so I stayed. Once again, I took a seat on the grimy floor, crossing my legs and leaning forward to rest my forehead against the wrought iron bars.

Several minutes passed with nothing but the sound of Brittany crying quietly. I tried my best not to look at her.

And then I sang. The words were in Spanish, an old lullaby that my wet-nurse and nanny used to sing for me when I grew restless or fitful.

I wasn't sure if it would help, but I hoped it would. Through the bars, Brittany seemed so distant. So entirely unattainable. Unreachable, not only physically, but emotionally.

One way or another, I would find a way to change that.


End file.
